


New Recruit

by young_monster



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Super power AU, gang rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/young_monster/pseuds/young_monster
Summary: In the process of threatening a minor crime "boss," the six guys might have found a new member.





	New Recruit

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the post of the guys of Hollywood Undead having powers on tumblr, you know, that one post that anyone in the HU tag has seen, and my brain kinda went haywire with all the ideas. I know the powers they have in this fic doesn't exactly correspond with the ones they have in the post (at least I think they don't, I can't really remember right now), but this fic was really fun to write. Enjoy!

“Goddamn, you’re too hot,” Jorel mutters, standing from the couch. He moves over to the other side of the room, taking off his jacket as he goes. 

“Not my fault you’re colder than your own soul.” George crosses his arms, and spreads out a little more on the couch. 

Jorel squints at him from underneath his white mask, flipping him off. “Not my fault you’re veins are literally fire.” He conjures enough ice to cover his hand in the clear crystals, letting the light reflect off them.

George raises his hands in mock surrender, with little flames licking along his fingers. “Fire and ice don’t mix, I get it. Just stay over there, where you won’t melt.” 

“Ha ha, asshole.” Jorel gives him a hateful smile, but can’t hold it, and lets out a little laugh. 

“Where the hell are the others?” George groans, holding out his hand. Out of boredom, he conjures a woman out of fire, and she starts dancing slowly on his palm. He just watches her, then extinguishes her when the door to the office is thrown open. 

“‘Sup, bitches,” Jordon greets as he and Dylan enter the room. He notices the distance between the two men in the room, and shoots Dylan a look, raising his eyebrows above his sunglasses. “Lover’s squabble?” He jokes, moving over to the wooden desk in the middle of the office. 

“Cute,” Jorel bites, glaring at Jordon. “Where’s the client, and the other two?” 

“They’ll be here soon,” Dylan tells him, putting on his own black mask. “Calm your tits, man.” 

“Fuckin’ make me,” Jorel retorts. “We have to get this right, you know that.” 

George huffs, standing from the couch with a grunt. “How can we not? There’s six against two. And we don’t even know if they have powers, while all of us do.” 

Jordon pauses, looking down to the ground. “They’re here.” 

As soon as he says that, the door is opened, with Aron entering first, his own mask glinting in the light of the office. “Mr. Clark is here,” He fully opens the door, letting the three others enter. 

A brawny man in a dark blue suit with very shiny hair enters, followed by a man with bright blonde hair, followed by Matthew in his two-faced mask, who closes the door, then slinks to behind the desk as well. 

“Mr. Clark, it’s nice to see you again,” Jorel greets, holding out his hand. 

The man in the suit takes his hand, and firmly shakes it. “I think we can all agree the pleasure of this meeting doesn’t exist, so let’s get right down to the negotiations, shall we?” 

“Negotiations?” Jordon asks, stepping forward. “I think you have the wrong word there,  _ sir _ .” 

“The day I bow down to men who aren’t even brave enough to show their faces is the day I will take my own life.” The man straightens his back, and takes a seat on the couch. His accomplice stands behind him, pressing his back against the wall. 

George huffs, moving to stand behind the desk, leaning his hands on the wood. “Why kill yourself? That’s pretty selfish; I’m sure there’s a long list of people who would love to do it for you.” 

Dylan snorts, raising his hand. “I’d like to be at the top of that list, if it’s an option.” 

“So, it’s either you die, or you agree to our terms,” Jorel sums up, clapping his hands in front of him. 

Matty grins, and uses his powers to influence the client’s emotions, giving his anger a little push. 

The man stands up, defiant look on his face. “I don’t believe those my only two options. I can always just walk out of here, and have my men decimate your entire operation.” 

“You and what army?” Jorel asks, straightening his back and puffing his chest slightly. 

“My associate here,” The man steps to the side, gesturing to the blonde man behind him, “And I have our own little powers.” 

The blonde man steps forward, and raises his hands, keeping his palms facing each other to make a cage with his slender fingers. Lightning crackles between his hands, slowly building until the crackling light consumes his entire arms. He maintains it for a moment, then extinguishes the lightning, returning to standing behind his boss. 

“Impressive,” George comments, a white lie the client can’t detect. “So what can you do, Mr. Clark? Bore us to death? Perhaps summon a nice wardrobe?” 

The guys all share a chuckle, which only serves to fuel their client’s anger. He fans his arms out, his face blank with determination. It takes a moment, but soon enough, an inferno’s worth of fire, glowering orange, bursts from his palms, licking the ceiling, threatening to burn the entire room. He contains the flames, keeping them small enough to not actually catch anything on fire, before putting them out with in the blink of an eye. 

The guys all blink from the sudden loss of light, but they otherwise reveal no reaction, other than Dylan casually shoving George. 

“Another pyro, Johnny. You might have some competition, man.” He jokes, looking back at the client. 

“That’s real  _ funny _ , Funny.” George replies with a shit-eating grin that he forgets no one can see. “But I think he’ll find that he’s quite outmatched.” 

Jordon crouches down, placing his palm on the floor. He looks up to Jorel, who nods once. 

“Hey, Mr. Clark,” Jordon calls out, making sure to have their client’s attention. Once he does, he jerks his head at the couch. “Why don’t you take a seat?” He pumps the floor with his palm, concentrating his energy on a singular path towards the client. In less than a second, a wave of force travels through the floor, ripping the tiles up as it goes, and hits the client’s feet, knocking him harshly onto the couch. 

Jorel steps in front of him, letting ice slowly travel up from his palms, curling around his arms. “You won’t be able to force us to agree to jack shit.” He raises his hand, and flicks it once, letting loose several ice shards. A high-pitched whine breaks out as they fly, courtesy of Aron. The shards impale the client’s jacket, effectively pinning him to the couch in several places. 

Matty takes this time to seep into the client’s emotions once more, flooding his brain with panic, effectively trapping him in place with his own terror. Now, he can only watch what happens to him. Aron ups the volume on the mind-numbing ringing, making sure it’s the only sound the man can hear. 

A bubble of water appears in the air, being controlled by Dylan, whose hands are circling around each other. The water hovers over to the client, and engulfs his nose and mouth, effectively cutting off from oxygen. After half of a minute, the client begins struggling, trying to yank himself free of the ice shards pinning him to the couch. After another twenty seconds, Dylan lets go of his control of the water bubble, and it falls onto the man’s lap, soaking his pants. 

Aron dissipates all sound from the man’s ears, escape for George’s voice. “Need a little help?” George steps forward, his hand outstretched. Just as the man is about to take it, George’s hand erupts into flames, burning a pure blue. The client yelps, jerking his hand back and pressing himself into the couch in his effort to escape the heat. 

“Oh, what’s wrong? Can’t take the heat?” George laughs, and turns his hand so his palm is towards the man’s legs, and he lets the flames inch closer and closer towards the man’s leg. The laughter echoes endlessly throughout the client’s ears, its volume riding a wave of torment, from maddeningly loud to eerily soft. 

Only once the man screams in pain does George relent, and step back to Jorel’s side. The man’s pants are now dry, and lightly smoking. Aron returns the man’s hearing to him, as does Matty does with his emotions. Of course his fear is still running high, but he isn’t frozen in terror anymore. 

“We’ll send you a list of our demands, and you’ll obey every single one of them, understood?” Jorel crosses his arms, keeping a protective stance in front of his brothers, should the client strike out. 

Mr. Clark just nods vigorously, and nearly runs out of the room in hurry of sweat and lingering fear. 

The blonde man is left behind, and he starts to calmly walk out the door. 

“Hey, wait!” Jorel calls out, dropping his arms to his sides. His hands unconsciously find their way inside of his pockets, and he leans against the desk. “What’s your name?” 

“Danny,” The blonde man replies, turning his back to the door. 

“You seem awfully calm,” Dylan remarks, sounding displeased yet impressed with that fact. 

“It wasn’t my fear you were manipulating, was it?” Danny retorts with a light smirk. “Besides, I’ve wanted to scare the shit outta that man for a long time, and you all did one hell of a job.” 

“Why do you work for him?” Jordon stands, wiping his hand on his pants in an effort to get rid of any residual dust from the tiles. 

Danny shrugs. “I owed him a lot a while ago, now I guess it’s a force of habit. I don’t care enough to go out and look for any new operation for myself, you know?” 

George hums, stepping in between Jorel and Danny, making sure the blonde man can’t see his face as he lifts up his mask. He shoots all the guys an approving look, then lowers his mask and returns to his original position. 

“I think I speak for all of us when I say that you’re always welcome to join our operation, should you find it within yourself to quit working for that asshole,” Jorel says, stretching out his hand towards the blonde man. 

Danny shakes Jorel’s hand, looking shocked, yet considering the idea. “I just might. I’ll need a few days to think on it, but it’s looking like decent chance I’ll join. You got any lightning guys on your crew?” 

Jorel glances to Aron, who shakes his head. “No, we don’t. We could use one though. Add to our nice little collection.” 

Danny chuckles. “Thanks, man. I have to go with him, but I’ll um… I’ll definitely think about your offer.” He takes one last glance around the room, then leaves, hurrying through the club to catch up with his boss. 

“Did we really just sign him up?” Matty asks, taking off his mask. He shakes his head harshly, letting his curly hair be free.  

“Why not? We can always use more people with powers,” Jorel replies, taking off his mask as well. Soon enough, all the men are maskless. 

Jordon scoffs. “Like six isn’t enough?” 

“Seven,” Aron corrects. “One of the bartenders, she’s got a little of telepathy in her. Not much, but it’s there.” 

“And how do you know?” Jordon narrows his eyes at the bleach-blonde, and playful smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

Aron scoffs, returning the smirk. “I’m head of hiring, you dick.” 

“You’re head of something,” Jordon mutters under his breath. 

“The more the merrier,” Dylan interjects. 

Matty hums in agreement. “It’s not like he can actually takes us down, even with the best infiltration plan in history.” 

“So, it’s settled.” Jorel claps his hands, swiveling around the face all of the guys. “Should he accept, we’ll start training him immediately. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please leave a comment or a kudos!


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